


Love is a Symphony

by FitzsimmonsForever



Series: Love is a Symphony [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FitzsimmonsForever/pseuds/FitzsimmonsForever
Summary: Simmons has been looking for a pianist to play at her jury for weeks now. Fitz might be just the pianist for the job.





	Love is a Symphony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pleadingforclarity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleadingforclarity/gifts).



> At very popular request, I have decided to expand on this AU a little bit. This is set before the events of In Perfect Harmony, starting from where Fitzsimmons meet. 
> 
> (Also this wasn't supposed to be multichapter, dammit. But I'm shipper trash. Who knows how many chapters this will be. Please save me from myself. xD)

Jemma Simmons can not find an accompanist.

It sure hasn’t been because of a lack of trying. She had asked all the piano faculty for recommendations, had sent emails, and made fliers. She even baked cookies and passed them around to anyone who she had seen in a practice room with a piano. 

But she guessed her reputation preceded her, and not a single pianist in the entire university had taken her up on the opportunity. 

It had been one stupid time, but once is all it takes in a music school, she guessed. 

Now, she sits in the darkened recital hall. It’s extremely late, the music building empty save for her and a single bari sax player, playing something annoyingly loud and fast down the hall.

That night, she practices in the small recital hall. She always claims this room has her practice space when she can, enjoying the feeling of playing on a stage, imagining each seat filled as she plays. Besides, sound has much more room to resonate in the high ceilinged hall, her cello sounding as if it had come to life underneath her hands. 

She sighs, and lets the frustration bleed out from her feet into the hardwood floor. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and then puts her bow to the string. 

She can feel the vibration through her body as she begins to play again, the cello pressing lightly against her chest. She pours all of her heartache into the music, letting the melody sing into the hall, the deep resonance of the opening chords making her body thrum with energy. 

The Elgar Cello Concerto, a beautiful and heartrending piece that she might not get to play because she can’t find a pianist. She wants to scream, but she lets the music do it for her. 

 

Fitz really hadn’t meant to stay in the building so late. He had locked himself in a practice room upstairs, setting a timer to remind him to not practice the night away. 

But halfway through his playing, his hands had hurt and his eyes had stung. He leaned his head against the black wood of the piano lid and closed his eyes. 

And the next thing he knew, his watch reads three am. 

He walks down the hall, pulling one arm across his chest in a feeble attempt to stretch out the now aching muscle. Apparently falling asleep sitting up over a piano isn’t the best thing for his body and his shoulders are stiff. 

He is almost out of the building when he hears it, the low vibrations of a cello echoing through the hallway. His feet stop immediately, his breath catching in his chest like a bird trapped in a cage. 

It is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard. 

He can see the stage lights on in the small recital hall and he takes a step forwards, hand resting on the door. He presses his face to the little window on the door, craning his neck so he can see the sole figure on the stage.

Her back is turned to him, but he can just make out her brown hair, pulled into a pony tail. She wears a soft blue sweater and jeans, and when she leans into the music, he can make out the curve of her jaw. 

Jemma Simmons. 

She is a freshman like him, in his eight am theory class. He has never actually spoken with her before, despite his desire to introduce himself to her. Yet he has never found something clever enough to say, unable to gather up the courage to actually begin to speak to someone as driven as her. He knows her only by reputation and by what others say about her. 

But as he stands there and listens, he can’t possibly imagine her being as cruel as people made her out to be. The melody made tears prickle in his eyes, made his hands itch to open the door and sit at the empty piano pushed to the back of the stage. 

He simply stands there and listens, forgetting everything but the sound of her music. 

 

 

The next morning, he marches himself straight to the head of the strings department and requests to be her pianist. The professor, a short little asian woman, just stares at him with a frown. But she writes his name and number down and schedules a rehearsal time for the next day, dismissing him with the wave of her hand. 

He leaves Professor May’s office feeling like he could take over the world. 

That night, he doesn’t fall asleep in the practice room, instead playing the piano part to the Elgar Cello Concerto over and over again until his fingers have memorized each note. 

 

It’s half an hour before his rehearsal and he’s so nervous he can’t eat the sandwich he brought for lunch. 

He sits on one of the little wood benches outside the music building, the cold winter air pushing against his skin and sending little chills up his spine. The sun that leaks through the tall oak trees around him is pale and weak. Winter is only a few weeks away. 

“I can’t believe you actually- God Fitz, I didn’t know you had that much guts!” 

The girl sitting next to him on the bench is his only friend at the school, the only other person that chose to talk to him. Her brown hair was cut short, framing her sharp jaw. 

“I don’t know why I did it, Daisy,” Fitz moans. “God, I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.” 

Daisy just shakes her head, popping another chip in her mouth. “You shoulda thought of that before. She’s going to eat you alive, Fitz.” 

After all, this is Jemma Simmons they are talking about. Sitting at the front desk in your first year is almost unheard of, yet Jemma had been placed second chair, taking the school by storm with how quickly she learned, how much she knew. But with good playing came a big ego, and rumors about the talented cellist had spread like a wildfire. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” he mumbles, putting his sandwich back in the plastic ziplock. 

“Hell, I do. You’re head over heels for her and-“ Daisy cuts off. 

“Would you please just lay off, I am not in love with her!” Fitz exclaims. 

“In love with who?” 

The new voice nearly makes him fall off the bench, his sandwich bag slipping out of his fingers and onto the sidewalk. He leans forwards to pick it up, tripping in his haste. When he looks up, his blue eyes meet hazel. 

Jemma Simmons stands in front of them both, her hands crossed over her chest, her lips pressed firmly together. She wears a white jacket and black pants that hug to her legs. He can’t stop staring for a second, having to drag his eyes away. 

Daisy, thankfully, speaks. 

“Ah, Jemma, nice to see you,” she says. “I gotta go… you know…. uhh… my clarinets not gonna practice itself!” With that, she shoots off, leaving the two of them standing alone. Jemma just stares at him.

“You’re Leo Fitz, aren’t you?” she asks. 

He gives her a little nod. “Nice to meet you.” 

She doesn’t say anything, turning on her heel and beginning to ascend the stone steps to the front doors of the music building. He stares after her and, when she notices he isn’t following, she turns. 

“Aren’t you coming?” she asks. “We have a rehearsal in ten minutes. I do hope you plan on warming up.” 

He follows her into the building, heart pounding. 

This would be a very interesting partnership, indeed. 


End file.
